


better late than never

by rire



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rire/pseuds/rire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The second button from the top of a male's uniform is often given away to a person he is in love with, and is considered a way of confession. The second button is the one closest to the heart and is said to contain the emotions from all three years' attendance at the school."</p><p>It is the last day of middle school, and all Midorima sees is red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	better late than never

**Author's Note:**

> Someone please save me from this pairing

_before_

 

It is the last day of middle school, and all Midorima sees is red.

The red of Akashi’s hair, startlingly close as he rises gracefully from his seat next to Midorima. The piercing red of his right eye, looking straight ahead as they walk out of the classroom. The striking yellow of his left eye is something Midorima cannot and will never get used to, but it does not matter.

Midorima squeezes his eyes shut. The red behind his eyelids remains vivid. He rips the second button off of his shirt while Akashi is walking ahead, closing his fist around it and squeezing the button so hard that it digs into his palm. In his left hand, he holds the lucky item of the day, a stuffed teddy bear. For what he’s about to do, he needs all the luck he can get.

Taking a deep breath, he jogs to catch up to Akashi, who is watching him with the kind of detached interest that makes Midorima flinch. Akashi may have changed recently, but Midorima’s feelings have not. If he is going to do this, he is going to do this today. He is well aware that they are headed to separate schools, but still, it is better late than never.

He walks up to Akashi, back straight and staring him in the eye. He hopes this will make up for the way his face is currently as red as Akashi’s hair. “Please accept this,” he mumbles, before opening his palm and presenting Akashi with the button that said everything Midorima could not say in the last three years.

Akashi casts a blank stare at it, as if he does not understand, even though Midorima _knows_ he does. And then, when their eyes meet, his gaze is filled with contempt. His eyes are hard and cold and Midorima’s throat closes up with dread. He takes a step back even before Akashi opens his mouth to speak.

“How childish,” Akashi says, scathing. “I expected better from you, Shintarou. You should know that I do not have time for distractions. Victory is the one and only thing I will devote my efforts to. If you want to face me in high school, then you should do the same.”

As Akashi turns to leave, Midorima watches as red fades to black. He can feel the cracks in the glass of his heart spreading out like spiderwebs, tangling his limbs in paralysis. What seems like an eternity passes before he can finally bring himself to leave.

On his way out, he throws his button in the trash. The hollow, echoing sound of the button hitting the bottom of the trash can resonates with him for days.

 

\---

 

_after_

 

On his last day of high school, Midorima is surprised to see the familiar red of Akashi’s hair, right outside Shuutoku’s school gates. He thinks he is hallucinating until two red eyes widen in recognition and Akashi walks towards him. He wonders what, outside of basketball, could possibly be so important for Akashi to make his way to Tokyo. Then again, Midorima has never quite been able to figure him out, for better or for worse.

“Akashi,” he greets, careful not to let any emotion slip through. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see you, Shintarou,” Akashi says amicably, flashing him a smile that, even now, causes his heart to stutter painfully. Midorima doesn’t intend to notice that Akashi’s second button is missing, but he does. He adjusts his glasses awkwardly and focuses his gaze on a spot near Akashi’s shoes, trying to swallow down the bitter feelings that had been pushed to the bottom of his heart for the past three years, and finding that his throat is much too dry to do so.

“I believe I owe you something,” Akashi says. Before Midorima can think of how to respond, there is a sudden lack of weight in his left hand where his lucky item of the day—a can of black coffee—should be. Instead, surprisingly warm fingers brush against his skin, placing a button in the palm of his hand.

Midorima’s breath catches in his throat as he closes his fingers disbelievingly around the button. He holds it gently, reverently, as if it may break if he held too hard. Akashi withdraws his hand, wearing a smile different from the one Midorima is accustomed to seeing. It’s small, remorseful, even hopeful, and his eyes are soft.

The next words that escape Akashi’s lips are ones Midorima never once expected to hear. “I was wrong,” Akashi says, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “I could win the whole world, and it would not matter to me if I had not won your heart. That is, if you’ll still have me.”

Midorima doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t dare to speak, for fear that what comes out of his mouth would simply be an incoherent high-pitched noise. Despite the uncertain look on Akashi’s face, the answer to his question is clear, and it always has been. The bitter taste in Midorima’s mouth disappears, replaced by the strong urge to do what he should have done three years ago.

This time, he does. This time, he leans down at the same time that Akashi gets on his tip-toes and half-closes his eyes, and when their lips brush gently, Midorima feels like he is floating. This time, it’s perfect.

 

\---

 

_(between)_

 

(After he watches Midorima’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he drops the button into the trash, after he watches Midorima’s retreating backside disappear into the distance, Akashi walks slowly back to the place where they had stood just minutes ago. His heart is burning with a foolish, childish desire, the flames of which will not be quenched no matter how many ice cold words he drenches them with. His eyes burn, too, but that is something he will never admit as he blinks furiously to clear them.

Akashi bends over the trash can, reaching in as far as his arm will go until his hands brush against the small plastic button. He fishes it out, brushes it against the fabric of his blazer, and gazes at it for a long, long time, fighting a losing battle.

In the end, he slips it into the pocket of his blazer.)


End file.
